


Vanity

by ThirdDegreeMaybe (tearyeyedfloatything)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Gen, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24159568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearyeyedfloatything/pseuds/ThirdDegreeMaybe
Summary: Statement of Cleo Brooks, regarding a gift from her sister.
Kudos: 5





	Vanity

**Author's Note:**

> Statement begins.

I suppose I should start by saying I'm not usually one for antiques, especially considering that they tend to be quite expensive. As a bank teller I can hardly make enough to pay rent, let alone go looking for some overpriced Victorian-something-or-another.

My sister Marcia, on the other hand, had no such problems; she was a well-respected and handsomely-payed private attorney, making enough to purchase both her second house and enough ridiculous furniture to decorate it. Usually antiques, though not with any particular aesthetic that I can decipher. She'd just as soon buy a porcelain vase from the Ming dynasty as she would a century-old Coca-Cola bottle, and then she'd put them on the same shelf. She even owned a collection of first-edition Superman comics, though she had no real interest in actually reading any of them. I think she just enjoyed the prestige of it.

Gifts from Marcia tended to be in this vein as well. Once she started collecting, every Chistmas and birthday came with jade carvings of birds or 18th century music boxes. Pretty, but ultimately useless. I usually ended up selling them for cash, and I used to feel guilty for that. I don't anymore.

You see, we used to be close. My sister and I were only a handful of years apart in age, and when we were young we spent nearly all our time together, playing pretend or talking about the boys we liked. Eventually she moved away for university, and when she came back there was a rift between us. She had moved on to bigger and brighter things, prestigous jobs and a luxurious pastimes, while she had left me to rot. That's what it felt like, at least.

For my thirtieth birthday she gave me a vanity. This was surprising for a number of reasons, first and foremost being that I actually liked it. It was bigger than her usual gifts, and she had to hire someone to help get it into my tiny flat. She grinned as she directed the man to set it up in my room, though I hadn't told her that was where I wanted it.

"Between the dresser and the desk," she told him, ignoring my attempts to to explain that it would probably fit better in the living room. "The light will shine in better here," she said. There was no point arguing with Marcia when she got an idea in her head, so I decided to let it go. Thirty years old and I still let my older sister tell me what to do. What a joke. 

When it was all said and done she smiled and nodded, as if proud of her handiwork. I couldn't help but grudgingly admit that the final product did look rather nice. The vanity fit much better than I had though it would, and even with a chair added it wouldn't take up too much space. The dark mahagony was smooth to the touch, well-polished and unmarred. It's single, circular mirror was framed by intricately carved wood. It was truly beautiful, and I thanked my sister with more sincerity than I'd ever felt regarding one of her gifts before. 

She waved off my thanks with carefully-constructed modesty. "Anything for my little sister," she cooed sweetly, and my gratitude dissipated to nothing. She stayed a bit longer for tea before finally telling me she had an appointment she had to get to, much to my relief. The stiffness in my shoulders finally eased at the sound of the door clicking shut behind her.

As I made my way to bed that night I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I closed the curtains over the windows and convinced myself it was just the leftover discomfort of having Marcia over; she'd always made me feel like she was silently judging me, and I never seemed to measure up. Sleep came... uneasily. 

The next morning I woke up late, with barely an hour before I had to go to work. I rushed through my morning routine as fast as I could: showering, getting dressed, brushing my teeth and hair, eating breakfast and doing my makeup quickly.

I was just finishing my mascara when I accidentally poked myself in the eye in my rush. I flinched from the pain and bumped my knee against the wood of the vanity, blinking quickly to keep my eyes from watering and ruining the rest of my makeup. Though my vision was blurred with unshed tears, I swear I could see my reflection move seperate from myself.

Her mouth opened and her shoulders shook slightly, almost as if she were laughing, but no noise accompanied the movement. By the time I could see properly nothing was amiss. It was just me in the mirror, face scrunched up in confusion and eyeliner smeared. I brushed it off and finished up, ultimately unsatisfied with my messy makeup but at least on time for work. 

My job was neither difficult nor stressful, but it could be boring, so I often made up little games to entertain myself. I'd guess how much money the next customer was going to deposit, or make up stories in my head about the kind of life they lived. Hardly professional, but it passed the time well enough, and I made my way home in fine condition each day.

This time, however, my flat was not how I left it. I can't explain the difference entirely, for nothing was missing or destroyed, but neither was it right. I bumped into my love seat on my way to the kitchen, despite the fact that I was used to walking through my living room in the dark and rarely hurt myself on the journey. My foot caught on the edge my rug and nearly sent me spiraling towards the ground. Even getting something to eat was difficult.

I know ice-cream is hardly an appropriate dinner, but it's what I wanted, and it wasn't where I left it in my freezer. I dug around for nearly ten minutes before finding it in the back, hidden under microwave dinners and frozen peas despite the fact that I always kept it in the front specifically so that I could have an easy-access treat for when I got home. This annoyed me greatly, but it was relatively easy to write it off. I could be forgetful at times, leave things in places I shouldn't and then remember too late what I had done with them. I had lost many keys in my lifetime, I'm embarrassed to say.

There was a tingling in the back of my head as I ate, and I kept finding myself turning my head to check to see if there was something behind me. There wasn't, of course there wasn't, I was just paranoid and on edge from a stressful day. The icecream probably wasn't helping, the sugar making me jittery, so I put it away after a few spoonfuls and decided I just needed to get some rest.

It was barely past nine, quite a bit earlier then I would normally go to bed, but I was tired enough to fall asleep almost instantly. Unfortunately it didn't stay that way. I woke up multiple times in the middle of the night to creaking floorboards, and while this happened occasionally on accound of my flat being quite old, it was never this bad. Someone was in my home.

I got up quickly, reaching for my phone with one hand and a weapon with the other. I ended up with a vase, some 16th century monstrosity Marcia got me for Christmas one year that felt heavy enough to do damage if I had to hit someone with it. I tiptoed slowly out of my room, turning on any light I could find as I searched for the intruder. 

"Hello?" I called out loudly. No answer came. "I know you're hear. If you don't leave right now I'm calling the police!" Still no answer, but quick footsteps echoed from right behind me and I whirled around in a panic. There was nothing, not even a glimpse of a shadow to be seen. My heart hammered loudly in my chest and I slammed the call button on my phone.

The cops showed up in about fifteen minutes. I repeated what I had told them on my phone, that I heard someone moving around in my flat and was afraid for my life.

They searched high and low, even going so far as to check with my downstairs neighbor, but the didn't find anything. Nothing was missing, there was no evidence of a break in, it was as if no one but me had been in there at all.

That's when they asked me if I had actually seen anyone. I told them that no, I hadn't, but I knew what I heard and someone had been in my flat. They didn't believe me, and they left with instructions to not make anymore false calls.

It went on like this for weeks. My things would be slightly moved in such a way to be almost unnoticeable, I would hear footsteps and creaking floorboards at night, and no one would ever believe me. It was slowly driving me insane, until I almost began to doubt myself as well.

There was never anyone to be found, after all, and I had to admit to myself that I was easily frightened and could be a bit paranoid. My parents told me that I should think about seeing someone, and I eventually scheduled an appointment wirh my doctor. I never made it to that appointment.

One night as I was sleeping I heard the noises again, but this time they were much closer than they had ever been. A thump, as if the person had tripped and fallen to the floor, before soft footsteps trailed towards me. My blood turned to ice in my veins. I was scared, and angry, and a little bit desperate. I didn't want to look, but I needed to. Was I truly only hearing things? Could it actually be real? I had to know.

I opened my eyes to see... myself.

She was there, at the foot of my bed, watching me. The whites of her eyes seemed to glow unnaturally in the moonlight and her lips curved into a cruel smile as she saw me pale. An aborted scream was stuck in my throat as I stared up at her.

She could tell I was afraid and it amused her, her mocking chuckle sending terrified shivers down my spine. My eyes darted away from her figure and around the room, searching wildly for a way out.

Her body blocked the way to the door. The window was three stories up, and even in that situation I don't think I would have been able to find the courage to throw myself out of it. Desperation mounting, my gaze caught the other side of the room, where my sister's gift stood innocently. 

The vanity was directly across from my bed, lit by the moonlight streaming through my window, at the perfect angle to see myself in. And yet I wasn't there. It was as if I was invisible, the bed in the mirror completely empty.

My reflection had laughed at me the day the noises started. She had watched me every single day. She had gotten out.

I scrambled out of bed and away from her, freezing cold terror powering my every move as I tried to make a run for it. It wasn't enough. She was fast, faster than my eyes could even comprehend, behind me in one moment and slamming me to the ground in the next.

Her hands were around my throat and squeezing, her bright eyes flashing manically as I scratched and clawed at her uselessly. Unconsciousness was seconds away, my lungs and brain begging for air I just couldn't get. I was going to die, she was going to kill me, there was nothing I could do.

And then there was a knock on the front door.

Her hands stilled, no longer squeezing but instead simply holding me in place. Her face turned away from me to look in the direction of the knocking, an irritated expression replacing the malevolent smile she'd started with.

"Looks like we have company," she said, dropping me abruptly. My head bounced painfully off of the wood flooring as I gasped in much-needed air. Stars danced across my vision from the impact and I coughed harshly, but she barely spared me a glance as she stomped away. 

I layed there on the floor for what felt like hours but was hardly even a full minute. Every part of me ached, from my undoubtedly bruised throat and pounding head to my oxygen-starved brain. I wanted to get away, but it hurt to move and I doubted I'd be able to make it past my reflection. I didn't want to give up but I didn't know what else to do.

There was another sharp knock before I heard the door open, and a tense moment of silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. "Hello, Marcia," my reflection greeted pleasantly.

I froze, panic seizing my body. I had somewhat come to accept that I was going to die, though I was far from happy about it. But this... My sister, alone with that monster? I couldn't do nothing. I couldn't give up.

Spurred on by a sudden resolution, I searched wildly for a weapon, forcing my throbbing body to move. I ended up with the vase I'd grabbed weeks ago, when all I though I had to deal with was some would-be burglar. I clutched it tightly in my hands and inched painfully slow towards my reflection and Marcia.

I was stepping carefully to avoid the floorboards I knew to be creaky, listening intently for any sounds of potential violence. There were no screams or cries, nothing to imply the conversation at the door was anything to be worried about. That, in and of itself, worried me. They sounded... cordial, at ease. 

"It's good to see you again," my reflection said, sounding uncomfortably earnest. For a moment I thought that she must be a very good actor. "What are you doing here?" She asked.

Marcia was quiet for a moment before answering. "You're taking too long," she said. My heart stopped in my chest. I didn't want that to mean what I thought it meant. "It's been weeks," she continued, even as I quietly begged her not to in my head, "I thought you might need some help."

It was very late, or maybe very early. Marcia would have no reason to visit at this time. She'd have no reason to say such odd things. None of this made sense and yet it was so obvious. A dawning realization, so horrifying I didn't even want to think it.

My sister, my best friend, was already gone. She'd been gone for years. Ever since she bought that vanity herself.

I remembered, suddenly and painfully, the first time I saw my sister after she graduated. She'd come home for the holidays with her terrible little gifts, cheerfully explaining her knew hobby and how she got into it.

"I found a beautiful vanity last spring," she told me, smiling. I had thought that smile to be fake, empty, and I realize now that I was partially right. While I had believed that she looked down on my because she thought she was better than me, because she moved on from me and didn't need me anymore, the full truth was that she was a monster wearing the mask of my sister.

White-hot rage coursed through my veins. My sister was gone, probably dead, and one of these things just... took her place. Like it was nothing. I knew in that moment I couldn't fight them. I didn't know what they were, those reflections-that-weren't, but they were far stronger than me. Not just stronger, either- faster and smarter, too. I didn't know what to do. Their conversation was dwindling, and I could hear their footsteps coming my way. 

I turned around, rushing back to my room as quietly as I could. The vanity sat there, mocking me, and I couldn't stand to look at it anymore. I stumbled over on unsteady legs, desperation guiding my actions as I shattered it's mirror.

Or, at least, I tried to. I stared dumbly at my hand, unable to comprehend what was happening; Instead of a sheet of glass my fist met air, going right through the polished wood frame as if it were an open window.

Footsteps on the other side of my door startled me, pulling my attention away from the not-mirror and towards my unwelcome guests. There was very little I could do in that moment. I could stay and try to fight against those inhuman monsters, regardless of how unlikely I was to win. I could stay and face my death head-on, accepting that this was the end. Or I could... go. Climb through the vanity. Find out for myself if my fate would be better or worse on the other side.

The door handle rattled but didn't open. I had locked it in the hope it would give me more time, but already I could hear wood splintering. I had to choose quickly, and hope I chose right.

I scrambled through the frame, crashing to the ground and landing roughly on my hands and knees before forcing myself back up and sprinting out of the room as quickly as I could. The flat was uncannily familiar, exactly the same as mine but turned around. I ran out of the front door and didn't look back.

I didn't stop running for a long time. It was still dark, late evening or early morning, as I forced myself to get as far from that place as possible. Eventually I had to slow down, chest heaving and lungs aching from exertion.

I wandered London, trying to get used to a backwards-world while watching other people like a hawk and searching for any reason at all to believe they might be some horrible monster, but everyone seemed normal. I got funny looks for walking around barefoot and crying, but nobody tried to brutally murder me.

I saw one of coworkers on my second day of mindless walking, a man whose name I could never remember. Logan or Lane, or maybe Louis. His mouth was set in a frown and he looked rather worried as he asked me where I'd been, why I hadn't been to work. Suddenly a mischevious grin overtook his features.

His eyes darted back and forward, as if looking to make sure no one was listening in, before leaning in and lowering his voice to ask, "Did you make it?"

My heart stuttered in my chest, my fingers clenched so tightly they shook. I forced myself to breathe, to look normal and unbothered by the question.

"Not yet," I said. He frowned again, obviously disappointmented, and left me alone after giving me a sympathetic pat on my shoulder. The place he touched seemed to burn for hours afterword, though there was no evidence on my skin to suggest it had truly happened.

The fear didn't leave. These people around me, though giving no reason to believe they were any different than those in my own world, were somehow still different.

Sometimes I would catch a flash of too-sharp teeth as they smiled or find eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight, before these small hints of their true nature vanished. The movement of their bodies alone spoke of unnatural grace and power, teeming with barely-controlled violence. One woman stared at me ublinking for what felt like hours, nose flared as if she could smell my terror.

It was only a matter of time before they found out. I knew I had to return to my flat eventually, but I put it off as long as I could, the memory of my own snarling face flashing behind my eyelids and keeping me on the streets. I was cold and hungry, in a world that felt almost-right but wasn't right at all, with monsters in human skin just waiting to strike if they found me wanting in any way.

I went back on the fourth day.

I don't know what I expected. To see my sister and I's reflections waiting to attack me, perhaps. The door was open when I got there, because it wasn't a very big priority to close it while running for my life. I flicked on the lights and shuffled in, body tense and ready for a fight. I searched each room carefully for myself and Marcia, leaving my bedroom for last. There was no one there, but something wasn't right with the vanity. I inched towards it warily, dread pooling unpleasantly in my stomach as I got closer.

I realized too late that it's glass was broken and scattered across my bedroom floor, jagged edges digging into my bare feet and making me bleed. I hissed in pain but didn't pull them out, too focused on the vanity in front of me. My fingers brushed the back of the wood frame, prodding at it to see if there was any evidence of the hole I'd climbed. There was none.

I cried out, unbidden, hopelessly. It couldn't be. It couldn't be! I slammed my hand into the place where the hole should have been but wasn't. I hit it, over and over again, until my knuckles bled and stained the wood, until I could no longer find the will to move at all.

I sat frozen on the ground for hours, trembling from the exhaustion and my barely repressed sobs, surrounded by glass and blood. The pain in my hands and feet couldn't even hope to match the despair I felt in that moment. I was stuck.

One moment the sun was shining brightly through the window and the next the moon hung low in the sky, stars twinkling bright and mocking. This went on for days, until finally I found the power to rise from my position

My whole body ached as I limped my way to the bathroom, looking for bandages. The other me kept them in the same cupboard as I did, though on the opposite side. I tended to my wounds carefully, pulling the fragments of the mirror out of my feet and adding them to the pile I made in my room.

Finally, I looked for glue.

I've been in this backwards world for over a week now. Every day I get closer to reparing the vanity and every day I get closer to being found out by the wretched creatures around me. I don't know which will happen first, but I know I won't go down without a fight.

**Author's Note:**

> Statement ends. 
> 
> I spent way too much time on this and I'm not super happy with the end result so I might go back and re-write half of it later, but for now it us what it is (`~`)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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